


Trickster's Choice

by Evergreene



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:05:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1495960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evergreene/pseuds/Evergreene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prank wars never go well, especially when there are Musketeers involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trickster's Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this bit of silliness. :)

'I suppose you think this is funny,' said Aramis, holding out his hat.

'Hilarious, actually.'

'You cut my feather off.'

D'Artagnan nodded, struggling to hold back his laughter as he cast a quick glance at the shorn hat. The sight of it proved to be too much, however, and he burst out laughing, then bolted as Aramis made a wild grab for him, the hat falling forgotten to the ground.

Aramis took a deep breath, trying to regain control as he watched d'Artagnan disappear through the main archway into the square. 'You know what this means?' he said, as Porthos came up alongside him, chewing on an apple.

'What?'

'This means war.'

Porthos frowned. 'Sounds annoying. Mind if I sit this one out?'

Aramis gave him a dark look. 'You'll join me soon enough, my friend.'

Porthos snorted and took another bite. 'When pigs fly.'

'You mark my words, he'll go after you next.'

'He wouldn't dare.'

Bending down, Aramis retrieved his shorn hat from the ground and held out it out wordlessly.

Porthos looked at it for a long moment, then let out a heavy sigh. 'I guess I'd best be on my guard then.'

\-----------------

Having grown up in the Court of Miracles, Porthos was a man used to all manner of mischief. So, expecting an attack as he was, he was vigilant in checking his bed before he got into it at night, in testing every doorway before he walked through and in taking great care not to drink anything but what he saw the barkeep pull directly from the barrel.

What he was not prepared for, however, was the shove d'Artagnan gave him as he watered his horse outside headquarters, one that sent him toppling head first into the water trough.

Spluttering, he surfaced to see d'Artagnan smirking at him.

'You little-'

It was only a little satisfying how fast d'Artagnan fled.

Scowling, Porthos turned around as he heard footsteps approaching, the movement sending water splashing over the sides of the trough.

'D'Artagnan strikes again, I see,' said Athos, the corners of his mouth quirking.

'Laugh while you can,' growled Porthos, batting away his horse away as it poked him affectionately with its nuzzle. 'He'll go after you next.'

Athos raised an eyebrow. 'He would not dare.'

Porthos snorted and began to lever himself out of the trough, only to lose his footing and fall back in with a splash.

\-------------

Athos was the sort of man who commanded respect from his fellows. He was a good soldier and a fine leader, with the result that most men in the garrison afforded him a kind of quiet dignity as they conducted their everyday business around him.

So when he entered his lodgings to find the furniture suspended from the ceiling through a series of ropes so complex it would make the most feared hangman in Paris proud, he thought for a moment he must be drunk, for surely none of his fellows would dare commit such a crime, not against him.

But then he thought of d'Artagnan - young, brash and with a sense of humour that was nothing if not creative.

With a shake of his head, he drew his knife and slashed through the nearest rope, only to curse as a pail of flour suspended just over the doorway tipped its contents all over him.

\-------------

'We must do something!'

'This is not the time for rash actions.'

'I've an idea. How about we pound him to a pulp?'

'The captain would not be pleased if we put d'Artagnan out of commission for too long,' said Athos, glancing around the room. They had commandeered Treville's office, figuring it to be the one place d'Artagnan would not have dared interfere, and indeed, everything looked normal, from the papers lying neatly shuffled on the desk, to the cloak hanging on the back of the door, to the precious spyglass that Porthos was playing with as he leant against the desk.

Aramis ran his hand through his hair as he strode from one side of the office to the other. 'He cannot get away with this,' he said, spinning back to face his friends.

'He will not.'

'We cannot let him win!'

'We will not.'

'So we must do something!'

'Perhaps not. Yet.'

Aramis paused mid-stride. 'What was that?'

Athos glanced at him, his lips quirking slightly. 'Have you not heard? There are few things more punishing than the simple act of waiting.'

Aramis stared at him for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face. 'You're an evil man, Athos. I knew there was a reason I liked you!'

Porthos nodded, his face creasing wickedly as he put the spyglass up to his eye, looking about the office. 'The little runt's gonna get what's coming to him,' he said, lowering the instrument back down and grinning at the other two, who looked at him for a long moment in silence.

'What?'

Aramis sighed. 'He inked the spyglass.'

'He what?'

'He inked the rim of the spyglass! You look like a ... I don't know what you look like! Nothing I've ever seen.'

Porthos tipped the instrument upside down, taking in the black paste that coated its end as Aramis pulled a large snowy cloth out of the inside of his coat and handed it over.

'I'm gonna kill him,' Porthos muttered, grunting his thanks as he rubbed at his face. He looked back at Aramis and Athos, giving his eye a last swipe. 'Better?'

Aramis glanced at Athos before going over to Porthos and placing a hand on his shoulder. 'Come, Porthos,' he said. 'Let us go back to your quarters. You have soap there, do you not?'

Porthos eyed him guardedly. 'Why?'

'Ah...it's not coming off.'

'What!'

Aramis turned to Athos, who was scratching his head, sending little puffs of flour floating about the room. 'I realise that anticipation is key to your plan, but let us not wait too long to exact our revenge.'

'I think we can all agree on that,' Athos replied dryly, then sneezed as some of the flour went up his nose.

\---------------------

'You cannot stay in here forever.'

There was no answer.

'You're going to have to face them sometime.'

D'Artagnan let the curtain fall back against the kitchen window and dealt her a rapid glance. 'Constance, it's been three weeks. And they have yet to do anything.'

'They are grown men, d'Artagnan! Maybe they are simply being mature and have decided not to reciprocate.'

D'Artagnan chewed on his lip for a moment before shaking his head. 'No, you don't know them like I do. They'll want revenge, you mark my words.'

'Well, you can't hide in here forever.'

'Why not?'

'Because I've got work to do!'

'I can help. Whatever you need doing, I'll do it. Free of charge. Do those dishes need washing?'

'Good bye, d'Artagnan.'

He turned to her, his eyes dark and pleading in the morning sunlight. 'Constance, I beg you. I cannot go out there. Every time I hear a footstep I think it is them coming for me.'

Constance bit her lip, but then shook her head determinedly. 'You should have thought of that before you decided to play your tricks on them,' she said firmly, beginning to shepherd him towards the front door.

D'Artagnan dug his heels in as he was prodded abruptly through the hall. 'You don't understand. They're planning something, I'm sure of it! And there are _three_ of them.'

'If they're planning something it's your own fault and no one else's. Now go on.'

'If I don't come back-'

'I'll know to look for you in a shallow grave. Now will you stop being a coward and go apologise to them? Perhaps they'll forgive you.'

D'Artagnan paused on the front step, one hand still wrapped around the doorframe as she gave him a last shove into the street. 'Do you think that will work?' he asked hopefully.

'Not a chance,' she informed him, and shut the door in his face.

\-------------

'Good morning, d'Artagnan,' said Aramis cheerfully, passing by him as he walked through the archway that guarded the entrance to musketeer headquarters.

D'Artagnan gave him an uncertain smile and continued on, keeping a surreptitious eye on the musketeer until he was well past. So focused was he on Aramis, however, that he ran straight into Porthos, whose solid bulk was blocking the entryway to the yard.

'Morning,' Porthos said, clapping a hearty hand on his back as he steadied him. 'Lovely day.'

D'Artagnan nodded, forcing a pained grin onto his face, and only reached his arm up to pat himself on the back, checking for damage, when Porthos had vanished into the armoury.

Athos raised his sword to him as he approached. 'I thought we would spar this morning,' he said by way of greeting.

D'Artagnan eyed him suspiciously. 'Why?'

Athos raised an eyebrow. 'You do want to become a musketeer, don't you? Part of that is being able to use a sword, preferably rather well.'

D'Artagnan forced himself to nod and drew his own sword, keeping a watchful lookout for any sign of Aramis and Porthos returning.

'Eyes on your opponent!'

'I'm not quite certain who that is at the moment,' d'Artagnan muttered under his breath as he ducked the first lunge of Athos' sword.

\------------------

'Are you quite well, d'Artagnan? asked Athos later, appearing silently on the opposite bench of the table by the stairs.

D'Artagnan glanced up at him nervously, putting down the apple at which he had been worrying with his knife. 'Well? Why? What's wrong? Why do you ask?'

'It's just that you seem a little _jumpy_ ,' said Aramis, sliding suddenly onto the bench next to him.

D'Artagnan edged away from him. 'I'm perfectly well.'

Porthos dropped down at his other side, folding his arms squarely on the tabletop. 'So you're not ... worrying about anything?'

'Not at all.'

'Really?' said Athos.

'Are you certain? enquired Aramis.

'You can tell us anything,' Porthos assured him.

D'Artagnan stared at the three musketeers now surrounding him. A few beats passed during which they all looked back, their faces amiable, then he set down his knife with a thump. 'You win. I can't take this anymore.'

'Take what?' Aramis said innocently.

'The three of you! Doing ... whatever it is you are doing!'

'We're not doing anything.'

'Precisely!'

Athos tilted his head to the side. 'So to be clear, you are fed up with us not doing anything?'

'That's what I said, wasn't it?'

'Perhaps you would like us to do something then?'

About to answer, d'Artagnan paused, suddenly figuring out where the conversation was going. 'I never said that.'

Aramis stood up. 'But that was what you meant, was it not?'

'No...'

'I think he wants us to do something,' agreed Porthos, joining Aramis on his feet.

'Come to think of it, I've changed my mind. Not doing anything is good. Underappreciated even. An excellent way to -'

'Get him,' commanded Athos, and d'Artagnan disappeared beneath the combined weight of Aramis and Porthos as they threw themselves forwards, emerging moments later with him pinned between them, several strands of hair in his mouth and his shirt awry.

'Here's the thing,' announced Porthos from his left-hand side. 'The three of us have noticed something about you.'

D'Artagnan spat out a few bits of hair. 'That I'm innocent until proven guilty?'

'You're already proven guilty,' Porthos retorted. 'And what we've noticed is that you don't like muck.'

'Or bugs,' interjected Athos.

'In fact, dealing with the filthier aspects of life is not something you enjoy,' finished Aramis.

'You're wrong,' said d'Artagnan, but the expression on his face betrayed him as Athos stepped forwards so they were eye to eye.

'You prefer cleanliness,' he said bluntly. 'Neatly pressed clothes. A well-made bed.'

'And we can't forget a nice bath every now and again,' added Porthos. 'Not in the horse trough though, that's not good enough for you.'

'Fortunately we've found somewhere much better,' said Aramis. 'Perhaps you would like to see it?'

'I have somewhere to be,' said d'Artagnan hastily, doing his futile best to tug away from the firm grip that Porthos and Aramis had on his arms. 'Constance is-'

'Constance told us she wanted nothing to do with this,' Aramis interrupted him. 'Though she was good enough to mention that you are the tidiest lodger she's ever had.'

'And she requested that we not let you back in her house until you'd cleaned up some.'

'I don't need to get cleaned up.'

'Not yet,' promised Porthos ominously, and with that the three musketeers moved off, Porthos and Aramis dragging d'Artagnan between them as Athos led the way.

Despite his best efforts, d'Artagnan's attempts to escape were to no avail and he found himself being forced under the arch and out into the streets of Paris, where passersby, including several other musketeers, stopped and watched as he was jostled unceremoniously past them. Some of them even waved.

The further they went from the garrison, the more nervous d'Artagnan became. 'Where are we going?' he demanded, trying to hook his feet around the wheels of a nearby wagon lodged by the side of the road.

'Well, we couldn't very well bring any pigs into musketeer headquarters, could we?' said Aramis evenly, steering him nimbly around the wagon with Porthos' assistance.

'Pigs?'

'Treville would have been less than pleased,' agreed Athos.

'So we're gonna bring _you_ to them,' continued Porthos, who was unable to contain his smirk. 'And throw you in with them.'

'What? No, no, no, no, no. You can't be serious-'

'We can and we are,' said Athos. He glanced over his shoulder at d'Artagnan. 'Do you have any idea how long it took me to get my furniture down?'

'Or how long it took me to stitch on a new feather?'

'Or how long it took me to get dry?'

'Yes, but _pigs_?'

It was Constance who suggested it,' admitted Aramis as he and Porthos hefted d'Artagnan bodily round a corner. 'In jest, of course, but we thought the idea had merit. That woman of yours has wonderful style, you know that?'

'She's not my woman,' d'Artagnan retorted, still struggling against them. 'She's married-'

'Still a Gascon farm boy at heart, isn't he?' said Porthos cheerfully as they drew to a halt before a large, muddy yard separated from the street by a low wooden fence, inside which three monstrously-sized pigs were snuffling their way through a great pile of soiled straw and leftovers.

D'Artagnan's eyes went wide as he looked anxiously from the yard to his friends. 'You cannot do this.'

With one lightning-fast movement, Aramis grabbed him around the wrists. At the same time, Porthos bent down and seized his legs, yanking them out from beneath him so he was suspended between them both, hanging inches above the ground.

'Like we said before,' said Athos, who was standing just behind them. 'We can and we will. Are you ready, Aramis, Porthos?'

'I was born ready,' declared Porthos, leering at d'Artagnan and hefting his weight ever so slightly so he began to sway back and forth, towards the pigs then away again.

'Wait, wait, wait, let's talk about this! Constance said I should apologise. What if I did?'

'Well, if you apologised then we would let you go,' said Aramis.

'Very well - I'm sorry. I was wrong to do what I did. It won't happen again.'

'No more tricks?' demanded Porthos.

'No more tricks. I swear, on my honour.'

Porthos grinned down at him. 'Good boy.'

Immediately, he and Aramis began to swing him back and forth, so that he gained greater height each time he moved through the air.

D'Artagnan did his best to twist away from them, his desperation growing. 'You said you would let me go!'

'We did at that,' said Porthos, nodding.

'We just failed to specify where,' finished Aramis.

Cursing, d'Artagnan twisted round to glare at Athos. 'This was your idea,' he hissed furiously. 'The weeks of waiting, then this...'

Athos touched the tip of his hat in acknowledgement. 'Guilty as charged,' he said. 'As are you. Gentlemen?'

'I hate you all,' d'Artagnan announced to the scene at large, before taking a deep breath and scrunching his eyes closed as Porthos and Aramis swung him forwards one last time and finally let him go.


End file.
